


i want (all of) you

by megeggsalad



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Reunion Sex, SO MUCH FLUFF, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, i want them to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megeggsalad/pseuds/megeggsalad
Summary: Dylan’s wrist burns even hotter, and when he looks at Connor, Connor’s already looking at him.





	i want (all of) you

**Author's Note:**

> listen y'all these boys will be happy if it's the last thing i do. also, they're soulmates in this, because it adds fluff and i wanted them to be. their marks are each other's initials on their wrists. yay.

Dylan doesn’t get to see Connor until after the Windsor/Sea Dogs game, but honestly, as soon as he lays eyes on Connor, he doesn’t even care how long he’s waiting, how long it’s been since they were really, actually together last. 

God, he just--he hates that there are people here, between them, and he loves Taylor and Darren and Alex, but his wrist is practically burning with the need to get to Connor, to touch him. 

Connor must feel it too, because he shakes the guys off pretty quick, and when he meets Dylan’s eyes, there’s just--it’s all so much, and Dylan feels like he’s going to cry. 

Connor had wanted to fly out to Erie, when Dylan had gotten sent down. He’d wanted to fly to Arizona, too, if only to scream in Dylan’s GM’s face about how big of a mistake he was making, how much Dylan deserved to stay in the NHL, but Dylan had told him no, and kissed his own wrist over facetime, so that Connor could feel the ghost of Dylan’s mouth against his own skin, and know that it was alright. 

And it really was. It stung, deep in a place Dylan didn’t know existed, that he hadn’t made the show, yet again--that he wasn’t good enough, yet again. But he was here, and he was an OHL champion, and he loved the Otters more than he’d ever thought possible, before, and no matter what happened, it was he who had done this. It was Dylan who had captained this team to an OHL championship, and it was Dylan who’d helped this team win it. Dylan who’d broken those records, this season, who’d become the Otters’ all-time scoring leader. 

And he was proud of it. Proud of all of it. Because he had done it, and he’d done it without Connor, and that was important to him. 

He knew people would never stop talking about the way he and Connor had shone together, knew he’d likely be at least a little bit in Connor’s shadow for his entire career, and that was something they’d talked about it. Connor hated it, but he didn’t feel guilty for it, which was honestly the last thing Dylan had wanted. It was enough that Connor himself wanted to see Dylan grow and flourish, the media and hockey fans be damned. 

Dylan’s wrist burns even hotter, and when he looks at Connor, Connor’s already looking at him. He’s silently thankful for whoever invented wrist covers, because they’re saving his ass, right now--not that he isn’t looking at Connor as if Connor is the reason the sun rises in the morning, not that every single person in this room probably can’t already tell that Dylan’s looking at his soulmate. 

“Oh,” he hears someone say, and after a moment, he can process enough to know that it was Taylor. Dylan wishes he cared more that they’ve just told most of their friends what they are to each other. 

In the end, Connor’s the one who moves to Dylan and leads them out of the hotel lobby, squeezing his hand around the back of Dylan’s neck. 

Dylan forgets how they get to Dylan’s hotel room as soon as they get there. He imagines Alex knows to stay away, for a while, because Connor is kissing him as soon as the door is closed, pressing Dylan gently back up against it. 

It feels--Dylan doesn’t have the words, to describe how it feels. Connor is home, to Dylan, and he always will be, which Dylan supposes is the point of having and finding a soulmate in the first place. It’s been so goddamn long since they’ve seen each other, facetime be damned. 

Connor is here, and Connor is real, and Connor is touching him, is kissing him, and that’s--Dylan has no idea how to do this, how to process how incredibly happy this makes him. 

Connor makes a noise, in the back of his throat, when Dylan tugs a little on his bottom lip, and pulls back, just slightly. They’d been holding hands, their fingers finding each other almost unconsciously and lacing themselves together, but now Connor lets go of his hand and touches Dylan’s face, just gently, like Dylan is something that deserves to be touched like this--like he is the most valuable thing Connor has ever seen. Like he is beautiful. 

“I know the beard is awful,” Dylan says, so Connor doesn’t have to. 

Connor laughs, and it’s soft, and choked with emotion. So is his voice, when he says, “God, Dylan, I am so fucking proud of you.” 

Dylan knows this. Connor has been telling him this for years, with increasing intensity as the playoffs started this season, but god, it feels so, so good to hear it in person, and Dylan can’t help but kiss him, just a little. He reaches for Connor’s covered wrist, the wrist that belongs to the hand touching Dylan’s face, and tugs the band off of it, so he can see the letters there. 

Dylan’s initials are glowing, the DS on Connor’s wrist illuminated because they’re much, much closer to each other physically than they have been in months. Connor reaches down for Dylan’s wrist to thumb off Dylan’s own wrist cover, and Connor’s initials are glowing, too. 

Dylan actually whines when Connor brings Dylan’s wrist to his mouth and kisses it. The heat that shoots through his body makes his knees buckle. Connor catches him and presses closer, kissing him and kissing him, and-- 

Dylan just can’t believe Connor’s here. 

“Connor,” Dylan says, into Connor’s mouth. He can’t stop smiling. “Oh my god, Connor.” 

“Dylan,” Connor replies, and they aren’t really kissing any more, just smiling against each other’s mouths, and Dylan lets out a helpless little giggle, because he can’t believe--he gets to have this. He actually gets to have this. 

But Connor’s laughing, too, pressing his face into Dylan’s neck, and it’s so beautiful, a mixture of helpless relief and pure, unadulterated joy that they’re together. Dylan slides his hands up and under Connor’s shirt, just to feel his skin, just because he can, and Connor maps out Dylan’s face with his fingertips, tracing his lips and his nose and his cheekbones. Dylan knows he hasn’t smiled like this in weeks. Connor leans in and kisses his nose, and then his lips, and then ducks down to start kissing his neck, and Dylan leans his head back against the door, a small groan escaping his lips, because Connor has always been good at that. 

Some things never change. 

“Dylan,” Connor whispers into the skin of Dylan’s neck. “Dylan, let me blow you.” 

“Why in the fuck would I say no to that,” Dylan grits out, because Connor’s sucking a mark into his collarbone, now, and shit, he’d never say no to Connor. 

Connor laughs again, and says, “Bed, maybe?” He pulls Dylan over to Dylan’s bed--and of course he knows which one it is; Connor has always been observant--sits him down, and tugs at Dylan’s shirt until it comes off. He runs his hands over Dylan’s chest reverently, pressing his mouth lightly to the skin of Dylan’s chest, and Dylan’s heart stutters. He doesn’t think Connor’s ever been this gentle with him--they were always too desperate, when they were both Otters, too new to being soulmates and too aware of exactly how little time they had left together. 

Now it’s just--Dylan is so happy he gets to have Connor, if only for a little while, and he wants to go as slow as they can so this never ends, and if it has to, he can at least walk away knowing the exact ways Connor’s body works, remember the exact shape of his smile, the exact feel of Connor’s skin under his hands. 

Connor drops to his knees, and Dylan feels like he can’t breathe. Connor has always been the most beautiful thing on the planet, to him, and the way he looks up at Dylan when he’s on his knees like this--it’s so, so much. 

Dylan cards a hand through Connor’s hair and leans down to kiss him, just once, before Connor tugs away and unbuckles his belt, and Dylan stops ignoring how hard he is. 

Connor mouths at the head of his dick through his boxers, and Dylan sees stars. 

“God,” he groans. 

“Nope, just me,” Connor shoots back, and Dylan almost puts his pants back on and leaves the room that very second, he swears to god. 

“Thought you wouldn’t let that McJesus thing go to your head,” Dylan pants, and Connor hooks his fingers in the waistband of Dylan’s boxers and pulls them down. 

Connor shrugs, and Dylan’s laugh is cut off when Connor licks at the head of his dick. 

“Shit, Connor,” he gasps, and hates, for a second, that he sort of forgot what this felt like, but then-- 

Connor takes Dylan in his mouth, little by little, and he doesn’t have it in him to be sad any more. Connor bobs his head and sucks, just a little, and Dylan--Dylan has never wanted anything more than he wants Connor, but-- 

“Fuck me,” he manages to get out, and Connor pulls off. 

“Are you sure you want--” 

Dylan pulls Connor up from his knees and lays back, so that Connor’s standing over him. 

"Connor,” he says, and Connor’s smile is fond. Dylan cups Connor’s face in his hands when Connor leans down to kiss him. 

"Okay,” Connor says, against his lips, and Dylan has to kiss him again. 

“Top drawer,” Dylan says, but Connor’s already reaching over, because he knows Dylan better than he knows anyone else in the world, better than Dylan knows himself. 

“I love you,” Dylan says, and it’s not the first time either of them has said it, not even close, but it still feels something like that. 

Connor drops the lube on the bed next to them and kisses him. He whispers, “I love you, too,” and loses his shirt when Dylan pulls at it. 

Connor has always been so overwhelming, to Dylan. The first time they did this, he’s pretty sure he cried, because it had all been so much, having Connor this close and this intimate. That’s another thing that hasn’t changed--they could have sex every day forever, and Dylan thinks he’d still be a little overwhelmed, because there’s nothing like just being with Connor, being near him, and the fact that he gets to have Connor like this is--it’s so, so much. 

Connor is generous with lube, like he always is, and Dylan knows the hotel room sheets will be a mess when they’re done here. He loses the thought, though, as Connor slips a finger inside him, to open him up, and Dylan groans against the burn of it. 

Connor pauses. “Okay, Dyls?” he asks, concern evident in the slight raise of his eyebrows. 

"Fine, it’s fine, Con,” Dylan pants back. “It’s just been a minute since I’ve done this.” 

I haven’t done this since you, he really means, and it’s true. He hasn’t had sex like this since he was with Connor last, and he’s fingered himself a few times since them, usually on skype with Connor, usually putting on a show, but--this is different, more. 

Connor smiles at him, though, soft and sweet, and keeps prepping him. He has two inside Dylan and is almost ready for three when Connor twists his wrist, just slightly, and Dylan’s back arches, pleasure surging through him, hot and heady. 

“There?” Connor’s grin is more cocky and confident than anything, now, especially when Dylan gasps out, “Yes, fuck, yes, that’s--fuck, Connor, yes.” 

Connor has Dylan nearly begging before he pulls his fingers out and slides a condom on. Dylan just watches, for a second, and untangles a hand from where it was twisted in the sheet below him to run a hand through Connor’s hair. Connor twists his head and presses a kiss to Dylan’s palm, and Dylan melts, just a little more, under Connor’s hands. 

Connor presses in slow, gentle as he’s been all night, and Dylan’s heart almost stops, because god, this--he really did forget this. Hurried handjobs and phone sex were great, they were enough, but there is nothing that compares to having Connor here, having Connor with him and inside him. 

Neither of them last long. They’ve been apart for too many months, and all of this is too overwhelming, still, and Dylan’s wrist burns whenever Connor touches it, which, when Connor pins Dylan’s hands above his head and laces their fingers together, is always. 

Connor gasps Dylan’s name when he comes, and then Dylan can’t do anything but groan when Connor reaches a hand between them to get Dylan off with a few strokes of his hand. Then he sort of collapses on top of Dylan, and they both stay there, ignoring the mess between them, breathing hard. 

Eventually, Connor stirs, and presses a kiss to the underside of Dylan’s jaw. Dylan whines when Connor pulls himself off of him to get a washcloth and clean up, probably, but Connor presses one more kiss to Dylan’s mouth to placate him before walking to the bathroom. 

Dylan jerks when Connor starts to clean him up, which makes Connor freeze and look up to him. Dylan smiles, fond, and says, “I’m okay, Davo. Keep going.” 

That’s what made him fall in love with Connor, he thinks. Connor stops, makes sure he’s going at Dylan’s pace, and stops again, just to check that Dylan’s okay, that Dylan’s right there next to him, always, whether it’s sex or hockey or anything else. And Connor sort of left Dylan behind, a little, where hockey is considered, but that’s okay, too, because Dylan gets to be in Erie and he gets to have Connor and he gets to have something to look forward to, next season, no matter what it is. 

“Hey,” Connor murmurs, and tucks the comforter over them. Dylan doesn’t remember either of them throwing it off the bed, but Connor must’ve done it, at some point, because it’s clean and dry. “You still with me?” 

“Yeah,” Dylan answers, turning his body into Connor’s, tangling their legs together. 

“I’m really proud of you, Dyls,” Connor says, again, and cups Dylan’s face in his hands. “I need you to--I’m just--” 

“Connor,” Dylan interrupts, laughing a little. “I understand. Thank you.” 

Connor grins, and starts kissing him again, pressing his lips all over Dylan’s face, peppering his cheeks and nose and forehead with little kisses. When Dylan squeezes his eyes shut, giggling, Connor kisses his eyelids, too. 

“I wish it could be like this forever,” Connor says, and the raw longing in his voice surprises Dylan, just a little bit. 

“Me too,” Dylan says. “I missed you like hell. But--” He pauses, touches Connor’s face with his fingertips, sweeps his thumb over Connor’s lips. “I don’t know, Con. You’re living your dream, and I’ll get there. It’s pretty okay right now, except for the distance, maybe, isn’t it?” 

Dylan says it without resentment, and he’s being completely honest. He wouldn’t want Connor to give this up for the world, and certainly not for him, even though he knows how important he is to Connor. 

Connor’s smile is the widest it’s been since Dylan first saw him again. 

“Yes,” he says, “it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> me, crying: dylan strome deserves all good things all the time ever  
> (i hope you liked it! this real life reunion had me in TEARS)


End file.
